


Paint Me Like One Of Your French Girls, Stiles

by is_that_charlie_scene



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Erica gunna steal yo man, Gen, I didn't mean for this to happen, I have an obsession with stiles being an artist ok, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pierced Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Tattooed Peter, Tattooed Stiles, Werewolves arent a thing, artsy stiles, cover up tattoo, kind of ooc?, past relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/is_that_charlie_scene/pseuds/is_that_charlie_scene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles runs a tattoo and piercing parlor with Boyd. Peter returns after three years of living in New York, for Derek's wedding, requesting a cover up tattoo of a name on his hip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this got so long. I swear it was meant to be a short fic, but now it's turned into a chaptered thing and I suddenly have a lot of feelings about it.  
> Any criticism is welcome, because I feel like this is so out of character of them but I can't tell.

Stiles hated working in silence as he drew fresh flash art for the displays in the tattoo shop but he also knew that Boyd hated the music up too loud when he was working on bookings and piercings. He made a point to slip in is earphones, blaring the loudest music he had. It was the only way to clear his head let himself feel what worked. 

Stiles sang under his breath, rolling up his sleeves before beginning on the paper. Winding up his arms were intricate designs of every colour. When he was young he'd been fascinated by his uncle's tattoos, always touching them and asking question. As soon as he had the funds, and managed to find somewhere willing to do it for him, he got his first tattoo at the fresh age of sixteen. It had taken twice the money, and a lot of talking, but he managed it. He had begun with the top of his shoulder, somewhere he could hide from his dad until the right time. A vibrant watercolour tattoo: a deep red rose with a black backdrop in memory of his mother. She'd always wore a rose somewhere be it her hair, her clothes, or in her perfume. He liked the reminder; it had a strong meaning to him.

From there his collection had grown. Intricate designs of vines winding down his arms, birds flying across the left side of his chest, the quote: 'I am exactly who I want to be' scrawled in neat italics. Each of his tattoos had been well planned and thought out. When he'd began as an apprentice at the small tattoo shop he'd began to do his own work, deciding the best way to practice was to do it on himself. He had been lucky that he'd found a natural talent in it after plenty of work on the practice skins. He quickly grew a name for himself, soon becoming co-owner of the shop with Boyd. More often than not, Stiles and Boyd couldn't handle all of the customers they got, despite the small town, and had brought in two new interns – Erica and Isaac. Erica was loud, but managed to put customers at ease while talking them through what they wanted before passing them through to Stiles or Boyd. Isaac was left to the usual clients, his sarcasm and cutting remarks more welcomed by them.

Stiles snapped out of his focus sharply by a flick to his ear. He glared as his gaze shot up to meet Isaac's, pulling his earphones out. “What?” He demanded, putting the pen down, glancing at the time. He wasn't due a client for the next half hour, Sunday being a quiet day.

“Someone's come in to see you. They want to talk art.” Isaac replied his tone bored as he bit on his thumbnail absently.

Stiles sighed but nodded, rising to his feet. “Name?”  
“Peter Hale, I think he said. First timer.”

Stiles paused, brows raised. “He's not a first timer.” He snorted, walking towards the front of the shop, earphones dangling out of the neck of his shirt, tapping against his chest as he walked. He dragged a hand through his hair to pull it away from his face, having been letting it get a little longer as of late - and quite liking it. 

Peter stood as Stiles approached, extending a hand, smirk firmly in place. “Stiles. Long-time no see.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but shook his hand while ignoring Erica and Isaac grilling Boyd on the far side of the shop. “Well look what the dogs dragged in. Bout time you showed your face again. Boyd missed you.” He quipped. "What are you in for?” He asked, crooking a finger for the man to follow him, keeping pace.

“I was thinking of having another tattoo done, and I wanted your opinion.” Peter replied, gaze darting around the room to all of the flash art available. “Well... actually I want a cover up done.” He admitted, when Stiles didn't reply.

“Of?” Stiles asked sitting at the desk. He gestured for Peter to sit across from him. It had been years since Stiles had seen Peter. 

The pair had dated for a few months, but when Peter had been offered a higher position in a law firm across the country, he had accepted and they had parted on good terms. Well, partially. Stiles had put up a fight since Peter had been perfectly happy where he was but was being pushed into the job position by his employers.   
Peter sighed softly, as he sat. “I have a tattoo of a name on my hip, and I'd rather have it covered up.” He drummed his fingers off the desk.  
Stiles frowned, but made no comment. “Alright, so what kind of cover up are you thinking of? If you show me, I can work around it.” He added.

Peter rolled his eyes, but nodded, standing once again. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing the material to the side to show the black ink, the name Jennifer scrawled in cursive.

Stiles hummed, nodding that he could sit again while chewing his lip. “It's a pretty shitty tattoo.” He commented, already absently sketching on the opposite side of the page he had been using earlier.

Peter watched with interest, slowly slouching in the seat. “Oh, I know. I was drunk. She was psychotic.”

Stiles sorted softly. “Did she do it herself or something?” he asked, glancing up. At Peter's silence, his eyes went wide. “Oh you're fucking joking me. No wonder it looks so shit.” He shook his head. He had a rough sketch of a wolf head on the page, using a different marker to accent shading, and a blue pencil to give a general idea of the eyes and highlights. He turned it to show Peter. “Obviously I'll fix it up a bit, but do you think you'd want this or something different?” Stiles had a knack for figuring people out. He'd given Peter about three small tattoos and knew what he liked. 

Peter was silent as he studied it, his index finger tracing it briefly. “I like it. But maybe smaller, since it's such a small area.”

Stiles hummed softly. “Or,” He took it back and picked up a marker again. “I could do this,” He began to draw light wisps trailing up from the top in the shape of leaves, flowing up towards a full moon. “And bring it up as far as your ribs. I know it's a small thing to cover up, but I always think a cover up should be something you'll never regret having.” He turned it around towards him again, brows raised. 

Peter nodded slowly. “Actually... Yeah. I like that much more. When can we get started?” He asked eager now that he'd considered it properly.  
Stiles broke into a broad grin. “Do you want to do it in sessions or on thorough session with a break in the middle?” He asked, first off.

“One session. I hate partials.”  
Stiles smirked. “I know.” He sang. “Boyd, when do I have an opening?” He called, head turning towards the front.

“You're booked up for the next two weeks.” Boyd called back, after a brief pause. 

“What about night sessions?”

“Oh. You're free every day except for Friday.”

“Thanks, big man.” He turned back to Peter, eyes shining. “How's Tuesday for you?” He offered.

“Why not tomorrow?” Peter asked, frowning slightly. In the past Stiles had been known to jump head first into projects with only an hours’ notice, and still bring out his best. 

Stiles waved a hand. “I need to work out the sketch properly and figure out colour combos. Cover ups require a lot more skill than basic ink to skin.”

“Well then, Tuesday works fine. What time will I come back?” Peter asked as he began to rise to his feet, Stiles quick to follow.

“We close at seven, so about half seven should be fine.” He stretched out his back and slipped the sketch into his folder as he walked Peter back towards the front. Boyd pencilled in the appointment. He had fifteen minutes until his next client, which gave him more time to work on it. “Speaking of coming back...” Stiles trailed off, shooting him a look. “Why did you come back?”

Peter smiled tightly, his gaze flashing with something Stiles couldn't quite place. “Derek's getting married. If I missed that, I'd be hunt down and shot on sight. I'm not staying long.”

Stiles visibly deflated. “Oh. I thought you were... Back, back.”

Peter shook his head. “I wish... I wasn't going to come in at all, to be honest, but nobody has your skills in New York.”

Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I bet. I'd say anyone would be able to do a simple cover up, Peter. Don't bloat my ego.”

Peter smirked. “Nobody can quite do it like you can, though.” Without another word, Peter breezed out the shop, leaving Stiles to stand there with his eyes wide in surprise.  
Erica sauntered past with a grin. “If you don't tap that, I will.” She sang, skipping out of the way of his hand darting out to hit her upside the head.

“Fuck off, Erica. You touch, you die.”


	2. Chapter 2

Come Tuesday, Stiles had the sketch drawn out perfectly. He'd spent hours over it, making sure he had each detail drawn out and transferred to a transfer sheet. He couldn't mess this up. Though it would be sure to be a tense session, he rarely let his personal life interfere with his proffessional life. His work meant more to him than anything else, at the moment, and he had no intention of messing that up.  
Despite a break up between Peter and Stiles, there was little tension or hard feelings. Stiles had understood why he had to go, and he was glad they parted on good terms.

Stiles had music playing over the speakers for once, Isaac, Erica and Boyd having left twenty minutes ago at closing time. He had no problem staying after, to clean up and do the extensive appointments. He was in the middle of wiping down his station when the bell at the door sounded. He lifted his head, a smile forming as Peter came into sight, slipping off his jacket as he did, brushing his fingers through his hair to shake off the rain. “Stiles?” He called out, not seeing him by the station.

Stiles rose to his feet. “You're early.” He sighed, with feigned annoyance. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Like you expected me to be late. If I'm on time, I'm late.” He shrugged, hanging his jacket up on a supplied stand.

“Alright, well I need to top up my inks.” Stiles left the sketch on the bench. “Have a look and tell me if you're happy with it, before we start.” He wandered off, able to feel Peter's gaze burning into the back of his head.

Really, the whole situation was far more tense for Peter. Having an ex's name covered, by an ex. How did he manage to get himself into these situations? He probably should have gotten it done in New York, but it was only a few months old and he'd wanted an excuse to visit Stiles without it being on a ridiculous excuse. He was beginning to regret his decisions, in general. Though he was a little surprised that Stiles hadn't been invited to the wedding. He'd asked Derek about it, but apparently something had happened when Peter left and nobody had thought to tell him about it. He studied the sketch, taking up sitting on the bedded table, legs swinging idly.

Peter had always been an admirer of Stiles' work, amazed by how well the artist could just look at someone and know what is was they needed. The design was simple, really. A detailed image of a wolf, looking up towards the moon, birds and shadows swirling up towards the moon. It was beautiful, and something Peter would never have thought of until it was put in front of him. And as far as cover up's went, he wouldn't get a better design.

He put the sketch to the side as Stiles returned. “It's better than I expected it to be.” He commented.

Stiles gasped aloud. “Excuse you, my work is flawless. You're lucky I'm not saving it for myself.” He shot back, gesturing for Peter to lay down. “Shirt off, jeans down.” He instructed, as he sat by the side, pulling on his gloves.

Once Peter's shirt was off, he refused to let himself check the man out. Peter was fit, always had been, but he had a job to focus on. But, he did do a brief check of Peter's other tattoo's while he could to make sure they were still in good condition. An anatomically correct heart on his chest, a fox that began as black at the tip, and ended at a vibrant orange at the end of the towel. Both tattoo's had been done by Stiles and he made a habit to make sure his work was being looked after.

Stiles wiped the decided area clean with an alcohol wipe before transferring the design to Peter's skin. “If you need any breaks, just let me know. No trying to push yourself bullshit, alright?”

Peter drummed his fingers off his thigh. “Like I would ever do that.” He sighed, exasperated.

Stiles shot him a hard look. “Yes, you would.” He sighed. “So, don't. This will take a couple of hours.” He reminded, before he began. He started with the general outline.

As Stiles worked on the piece, he fell into a deep state of focus, his hand steady, tissue in his other hand to wipe away excess ink and any blood. When he had the entire outline down and a small amount of shading done, he moved away. Silence fell as the machine was turned off. His gaze shot to Peter's face, who was watching him with a slight frown.

“What?” Stiles asked. He was only stopping to give Peter a few minutes break. He knew full well Peter would never tap out, so he had to use his own discretion. He'd already been at it for about fourty minutes. 

Peter shook his head. “I forgot how focused you became.” He said quietly, before looking down at the artwork along his side. He had underestimated how long it would really take, but he was impressed. If anything, the end product would look miles better than the design he had been shown.

“Well, if I'm not, I'll fuck up.” He used his forearm to push his hair out of his face. “And neither of us want that. I'd rather not do a cover up, of a cover up. Especially not this.” He chuckled, rolling his shoulder, before rolling his chair forward again. He began again once Peter had laid back, ignoring how intensely Peter was watching him.

Through out the course of the session, which lasted roughly five hours in total, silence fell between the pair. It was peaceful, the only sound being that of the whirring of the machine and the soft music coming from the speakers. When Stiles finally moved away and wiped the area down and dressed it, he was happy with his work. It had turned out vibrant, in shades of black, purple and blue. After a quick glance to Peter's expression, he knew he'd done a good job. “Right, you know the drill with this, yeah?” He asked as he took off his gloves and Peter slowly sat up. 

Peter nodded. “Keep it wrapped for two weeks, keep it clean, don't let it get wet.” He drilled off as he put back on his shirt, after admiring the art for a few minutes. “How much?” He asked.

Stiles hesitated for a moment, doing the math in his head. It should have been three hundred, but they usually did cover ups for less. “Hundred and fifty should be fine. That alright?” He asked, standing up. 

Peter zipped and buttoned up his jeans once more, cautious of the tattoo now, and nodded. “Lower your prices?” He asked. “Not like Boyd.”

Stiles flicked his ear as he passed to go to the front desk, Peter following. “Don't be smart. It's a cover up. We charge less for that.” He explained as he hand wrote out the receipt at Peter put the correct amount on the glass counter, gaze falling on the jewelry on display.

“Ah,” Peter replied. “Manage to convince Boyd to give you any new piercings?” He asked, signing the end of the receipt neatly.

Stiles hummed, taking the copy off the back of the sheet and put it in the side of the till, after putting in the money. “Nah. When we started training in Isaac, I got him to do them. That way if he fucks up, at least I can fix it myself. But if he fucks up on a client then that's business lost.” He shrugged. “He get's so scared about it, because piercing is Boyd's thing and he just stands there glaring the entire time.” He smirked. “We fuck with him a lot.”

Peter snorted in amusement, shrugging on his jacket with ease. “So, where have you gotten them then? Definitely not your ears again.” He cocked a brow, gesturing vaguely to Stiles' stretched lobes and industrial piercing on his left ear. 

Stiles grinned. “Nowhere major. Both nipples, surface piercing on my hips, though I reckon they'll start to reject soon. They have that look about them.” He shrugged, glancing at the time once more. He was exhausted and he had the shop to clean down.

Peter hummed in appreciation. “Pity, that. Well, I'll get out of your hair, then.” He smiled warmly as he walked towards the door.

“I'm sure I'll see you around. Enjoy the wedding. Give Derek and his beau my best.” Stiles replied as he followed, opening the door for him.

“I will, of course.” Peter promised. He paused in the doorway, watching Stiles for a long moment. “Thanks, again, Stiles. It.. It was good to see you again.”

Stiles blinked in surprise, then nodded. “You too, Peter. You too. You can call by any time, you know that, right?”

Peter's smile tightened slightly, his nod awkward. “Yeah.” With that, he walked out with his hands shoved in his pockets, head bowed against the rain.

Stiles watched him go with a small frown, slowly closing the door and bolting it. With a resigned sigh he accepted his fate of cleaning and spending the rest of his night reliving the conversation. He hated when Peter left conversations open like that, and just left.


	3. Chapter 3

It was another week before Stiles saw Peter again, two day after the wedding. There had been tension surrounding his tattoo shop, as all three of his employees had been invited and it was made clear Stiles wouldn't be welcome. He could accept that, and he kept his distance. But he didn't explain to Erica why when she asked. It was his personal business. It was between him and Derek, and Stiles knew such information getting out would result in a backlash he wasn't prepared for.

He'd closed on the day of the wedding, but also allowed Boyd, Erica and Isaac the couple of days off. They had very few bookings and Stiles could handle it himself. He would have to when Isaac went to college, while Boyd and Erica intended to move in a few months. Stiles had no plans to employ anyone else for a while. He liked the peace.

When Peter strode in to the shop, he had a sketch pad in his hand. Stiles instantly recognized it as one of his own, and faltered in his greeting. “Morni- Where did you find that?”

Peter held it out to Stiles, laying it out on the glass counter between them. “Found it in one of the boxes I left with Talia before I moved. I thought you might like it back.” He replied, drumming his fingers off the cover page lightly.

Stiles clicked his tongue, sliding it towards himself and out of Peter's grasp. “How was the wedding?” He asked, flicking open the cover. He didn't know which set of sketches he would find. But it was clear Peter had gone through it before giving it to Stiles, so he had nothing to lose.  
He blushed a light shade of pink, flicking through the first few crappy sketches to get to the heart of the sketch pad, where lay his first attempts at life drawings. But Stiles being who he was at that time in his life, Peter had been his only model and Stiles had never gone halves when it came to details.

Peter was silent, watching Stiles' reaction. It had been difficult for him to flick through them when he found it originally, the reminder making him feel a bit sick. “It was fine. You'd think Derek would be happy on his own wedding day, but apparently not.” He shrugged, leaning on the counter, studying the various pieces of jewelry. He lifted his gaze to watch Stiles. “Why weren't you invited?”

Stiles' hand stilled from where it was turning a page. “Things changed when you left, Peter. Derek and I aren't on speaking terms and that is fine. Who he does and does not invite to his wedding is his business.” Stiles looked up at him, closing the sketch pad.

“But I don't see why.” Peter replied, shaking his head. “You two were basically best friends, since Scott-”

“Don't.” Stiles cut in, tone cold. He hated when Scott was brought up. That conversation was dead and buried and Stiles had no intention of living in the past. “Things happen, Peter. Maybe you should ask Derek if you're so interest.” He muttered, turning to stow away his sketch pad in his bag.

“I tried. He's as tight lipped as you are.” Peter frowned. He couldn't understand it. He had been positive when he left that Stiles would be around people who would remain a support system. Apparently not, from what he'd seen. It seemed the only people Stiles had were those he worked with, and even they were leaving soon enough. “Would John know?” He asked. He had to know.

Stiles' paled at the mention of his father. “I suppose he would.” He turned back to face Peter. “But seeing as he's taken up residence in the cemetery, I don't think he'll be of much use.” He stated bluntly. He glanced at the time. “Look, this has been nice, but I have a client in ten minutes and I need to prepare for his session.”

Peter visibly faltered, stepping back slightly. “Right, okay. Can I ask how he passed?” He asked quietly, brows furrowed.

“Drunk driver.” Stiles replied bluntly. “Dad died on the way to the hospital. Drive of the other car came away unscathed and got away with a four month sentence.” He walked around the counter, template in hand, and made his way to his station to set up. 

Peter grimaced. “I'm sorry, I didn't realize.” He said softly. “I'll leave you be. I leave in three days. I'd like to see you again, before I do. If that's okay, of course.

Stiles hesitated. “I'll text you. I'm pretty buy for the next couple of days. If I get time, sure. If not, then I guess I'll see you next time.”

Peter nodded and slid his card out of his wallet, leaving it on the counter. “I changed my number last year. Safety reasons. Just text me whenever you want. I'll be around.” He offered Stiles a small smile. With another round of slightly awkward goodbyes, Peter finally left and made his way into town.

Despite their first meeting after a three year gap having been rather nice and almost normal, Peter was beginning to see how Stiles had changed over time. He didn't carry his usual sarcasm and humour that Peter was used to. He was startled by the fact that John had died.

Why had nobody told him? The Hale's and Stilinski's had been close, as Claudia had been best friends with Talia. And now it seemed Stiles had been abandoned by the people that once had been considered family.

It didn't sit well with Peter, and he intended to fix it before he left. When he had originally left for Beacon Hills, he had been under the impression that things would be fine. That Stiles would be looked out for. He was still only in his early twenties and as susceptible to getting himself into trouble as ever. But, maybe not as much as he used to. To Peter, Stiles seemed to have matured above his age. He seemed aged.

Peter hated it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my delay on updating this. Things have been hectic lately, with exams and such coming up. It'll probably be another two weeks before I update again, but when I do I will have a week and will attempt to really dig deep into this to get it where I want it to be!  
> As always, criticism and comments are more than welcome!
> 
> Also, I've found my spelling and grammar has been failing me lately so I am on the hunt for a Beta. If anyone is interested on going over my poor first drafts to help me out, I would appreciate it immensely!


End file.
